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Vol. II. No. 4. Five cents. 



Per Year, Fifty cents 




\i 



Xittle 3ourne^0 

SERIES FOR 1896 

Xittle Journeys to tbe f)ome6 ol 
American Butbors 

The papers below specified, were, with the 
exception of that contributed by the editor, 
Mr. Hubbard, originally issued by the late 
G. P. Putnam, in 1853, in a series entitled 
Homes of American Authors, It is now 
nearly half a century since this series (which 
won for itself at the time a very noteworthy 
prestige) was brought before the public ; and 
the present publishers feel that no apology is 
needed in presenting to a new generation of 
American readers papers of such distinctive 
biographical interest and literary value. 

No. 1, Emerson, by Geo. "W. Curtis, 

** 2, Bryant, by Caroline M. Kirkland. 

*' 3, Prescott, by Geo. S. Hillard. 

** 4, Lowell, by Charles F. Briggs, 

*' 5, Simms, by Wm. Cullen Bryant. 

** 6, Walt Whitman, by Elbert Hubbard. 

** 7, Hawthorne, by Geo. \Vm. Curtis. 

*' 8, Audubon, by Parke Godwin. 

*• 9, Irving, by H. T. Tuckerman. 

*• 10, Longfellow by Geo. "Wm. Curtis. 

** II, Everett, by Geo. S. Hillard. 

" 12, Bancroft, by Geo. W. Greene. 

The above papers, which will form the 
series of Little Journeys for the year 1896, 
will be issued monthly, beginning January, 
in the same general style as the series of 
1895, at socts. a year. Single copies, 5 cts., 
postage paid. 

Entered at the Post Office, New Rochelle, N. Y., 
as second class matter 



Copyright, 1896, by 

G. P. Putnam's sons 

27 * 29 West 23D Street, New York 

24 Bedford Street, Strand, London 

The Knickerbocker Press, New Rochellk, N. Y. 



^c/-/^7^ 



JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 



123 



To Charles F. Briggs, 

Elm WOOD, Aug., 21, 1845. 
My sorrows are not literary ones, but those 
of daily life. I pass through the world and meet 
with scarcely a response to the affectionateness 
of my nature. Brought up in a very reserved 
and conventional family, I cannot in society ap- 
pear what I really am. I go out sometimes with 
my heart so full of yearning towards my fellows 
that the indifferent look with which even entire 
strangers pass me brings tears into my eyes. 
And then to be looked upon by those who do 
know me (externally) as"I/Dwell the poet "it 
makes me sick. Why not as I^owell the man— 
the boy rather,— as Jemmy I^owell ? 

James R. Indwell. 



124 



FOREWORD 

How it strikes a contemporary is al- 
ways interesting ; and inadvertence, like 
irrelevance, has its charm. These things 
being true, this essay written forty-three 
years ago is valuable. The author tells 
with a poorly masked boast that the 
grandfather of Mr. I^owell was a Mem- 
ber of Congress. For the grandson no 
such leap into greatness was prophesied 
— it was too much ! And as for the Court 
of St. James, Mr. Briggs had n't imagina- 
tion enough to dream of it. Yet I re- 
member when the papers announced that 
our plain Harvard professor had been 
appointed Minister to England we boys 
thought of the big shaggy dog that tagged 
him through the street, of the briar-wood 
pipe, and the dusty suit of gray, and we 
were struck dumb with amazement. 

Then, when Mr. Briggs quotes The 
Courtin\ and gives his idea of *^true 
poetry '* and **art,'* we bethink us that 
we have a few ideas in this line ourselves, 
and pass on. 

125 



jforeworD 



The reference to Maria White brings to 
mind The Letters^ and we remember the 
poet's various references to this splendid 
woman. 

Mr. Briggs admits that his subject is 
an abolitionist — 't were vain to deny it — 
but he is not an unreasonable fanatical 
abolitionist, for, mark you, even South- 
erners read his poetry. Well, I guess so ! 
And, thus Mr. Briggs saves Mr. Lowell's 
reputation and his own — forsooth, for 
wise men trim ship ; and a list to star- 
board is as bad as a list to port if you are 
an all *round literary man with manu- 
script to market. So we think no more of 
Lowell on account of the Briggs' apology 
and no less of Briggs. A shifty loyalty is 
ever entertaining when viewed across the 
intervening years. And we smile, but the 
smile turns to a sigh when we remember 
that Briggs, like his fears, is now dust ; 
and that in Mt. Auburn where three 
weeping willows stand guard, sleeps a 
beloved nephew of Lowell given to the 
cause that ** raised such a commotion.'* 
A step away are simple little slate slabs 
that mark the graves of ** James Russell 
Lowell, and Maria White, his wife," 



126 



JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 



BY CHAS. F. BRIGGS.* 



CAMBRIDGE is one of the very few 
towns in New England that is 
worth visiting for the sake of 
its old houses. It has its full share of 
turreted and bedomed cottages, of pie- 
crust battlements, and Athenian temples ; 
but its chief glory, besides its elms, 
and ** muses' factories,'* are the fine old 
wooden mansions, which seem to be in- 
digenous to the soil on which they stand, 
like the stately trees that surround them. 
These well-preserved relics of our ante- 
revolutionary splendor are not calculated 

* written in 1853 for VuinsLm^sHomeso/Amen'" 
can A uthors. 

127 



James IRussell Xowell 



to make us feel proud of our advance- 
ment in architectiural taste, since we 
achieved our independence ; and we can- 
not help thinking that men who are fond 
of building make-believe baronial castles, 
never could have had the spirit to dream 
of asserting their independence of the 
old world. People who are afraid to trust 
their own invention in so simple a thing 
as house-building, could never have 
trusted themselves in the more impor- 
tant business of government-making. Yet 
some of these fine old houses, that have 
so manly and independent a look, were 
built by stanch, conservative tories, who 
feared republicanism, and had no faith at 
all in the possibility of a state without a 
king. 

The stately old mansion in which the 
poet Lowell was bom, one of the finest 
in the neighborhood of Boston, was built 
by Thomas Oliver, the last royal lyieuten- 
ant-Govemor of the province of Massa- 
chusetts, who remained true to his 
allegiance, and after the Declaration of 
128 



5ame0 TRuasell Xowell 



Independence removed to !^ngland, where 
lie died. In Eliot's Biographical Dic- 
tionary of the first settlers in New Eng- 
land, is the following brief account of 
this sturdy royalist : 

*^ Thomas Oliver was the last Ivieuten- 
ant-Govemor under the crown. He was 
a man of letters, and possessed of much 
good nature and good breeding ; he was 
aflfable, courteous, a complete gentleman 
in his manners, and the delight of his 
acquaintance. He graduated at Harvard 
College in 1753. He built an elegant 
mansion in Cambridge, and enjoyed a 
plentiful fortune. When he left America 
it was with extreme regret. He lived in 
the shades of retirement while in Eu- 
rope, and very lately (1809) his death was 
announced in the public papers." 

The character of the man might easily 
have been told from examining his house ; 
it bears the marks of a generous and ami- 
able nature, as unerringly as such quali- 
ties are denoted by the shape of the head. 
Mean men do not build themselves such 
129 



5ame0 IRueeell Xowell 



habitations. Much good nature is plainly 
traceable in its fine large rooms, and its 
capacious chimneys, which might well 
be called 

The wind-pipe of good hospitalite. 

It has a broad staircase with easy land- 
ings, and a hall wide enough for a tradi- 
tionary duel to have been fought in it, 
when, like many of the neighboring 
mansions, it was occupied by revolution- 
ary soldiers. Washington, too, was once 
entertained under its roof, and after the 
war it became the property of Blbridge 
Gerry, one of the signers of the Declara- 
tion of Independence, who lived in it, 
while he was Vice-President of the United 
States, At his death it was purchased 
from the widow of Gerry by its present 
owner, the Rev. Charles Lowell, father of 
the Poet, by whom it was beautified and 
improved. Dr. Lowell planted the greater 
part of the noble trees which now sur- 
round it, conspicuous among them being 
the superb elms from which it derives its 
130 



Sames IRussell Xowell 



name. The grounds of Elmwood are 
about thirteen acres in extent, and adjoin 
on one side the cemetery of Mount Au- 
bmn, where two of the Poet's children, 
Blanche and Rose, are buried. It was on 
the grave of his firstborn that the beau- 
tiful poem, full of heartfelt tenderness, 
called The First Snow-fall^ was written. 
Some of Lo weirs finest poems have 
trees for their themes, and he appears to 
entertain a strong affection for the leafy 
patriarchs beneath whose branches he 
had played in his boyhood. In one of 
the many poems which have overflowed 
from his prodigal genius into the columns 
of obscure monthly and weekly periodi- 
cals, and have not yet been published in 
a volume, is one called A Day in June, 
in which occurs an exquisitely touching 
apostrophe to the ** tall elm '' that forms 
so conspicuous an object in the view of 
Blmwood drawn by our artist : 

Snap, chord of manhood's tenser strain ; 
To-day I will be a boy again ; 
The mind's pursuing element, 
I<ike a bow slackened and unbent, 

131 



5amc0 IRuaaell Xowcll 



In some dark comer shall be leant ; 

The robin sings, as of old, from the limb, 

The cat-bird crows in the lilac bush ; 

Through the dim arbor, himself more dim. 

Silently hops the hermit-thrush, 

The withered leaves keep dumb for him ; 

The irreverent buccaneering bee 

Hath stormed and rifled the nunnery 

Of the lily, and scattered the sacred floor 

With haste-dropt gold from shrine to door : 

There, as of yore, 

The rich milk-tinging buttercup, 

Its tiny polished urn holds up. 

Filled with ripe summer to the edge, 

The sun in his own wine to pledge ; 

And one tall elm, this hundredth year 

Doge of our leafy Venice here, 

Who with an annual ring doth wed 

The blue Adriatic overhead, 

Shadows with his palatial mass 

The deep canals of flowing grass, 

Where grow the dandelions sparse 

For shadows of Italian stars. 

I/Owell has studied in the life-school 
of poetry, and all the pictures which he 
has woven into the texture of his verse 
have been drawn directly from nature. 
His descriptions of scenery are full of 
local coloring, and, in his Indian Sum- 
mer Reverie y there are so many accurate 
and vivid pictures of Elmwood and its 
neighborhood, of the '^silver Charles,'* 
132 



Jamee IRueaell 3towell 



the meadows, the trees, the distant hills, 
the colleges, *'the glimmering farms," 
and ** Coptic tombs," that we need hardly 
do more than transfer them to our pages 
to give a vivid picture of his home and 
its associations. 

There gleams my native village, dear to me, 
Though higher change's waves each day are 

seen, 
Whelming fields famed in boyhood's history, 
Sanding v^ith houses the diminished green ; 
There, in the red brick, vp^hich softening time 

defies, 
Stand square and stifi* the Muses' factories ; 
How with my life knit up in every well-known 

scene ! 

Beyond that hillock's house-bespotted swell, 
Where Gothic chapels house the horse and chaise, 
Where quiet cits in Grecian temples dwell, 
Where Coptic tombs resound with prayer and 

praise 
Where dust and mud the equal year divide. 
There gentle Alston lived, and wrought and died. 
Transfiguring street and shop with his illumined 

gaze. 

In this brilliant descriptive poem he 

exhibits his native town in a series of 

changing pictures that bring the scenes 

perfectly before us under all the varying 

133 



James IRngeell Xowell 



phases of the year. What landscape 
painter has given us such pictures as these 
of the approaches of a New England 
winter ? 

Or come when sunset gives its freshened zest, 
I^ean o'er the bridge and let the ruddy thrill, 
While the shorn sun swells down the hazy 
west, 
Clow opposite ;— the marshes drink their fill 
And swoon with purple veins, then slowly fade 
Through pink to brown, as eastward moves the 
shade 
lengthening with stealthy creep, of Simond's 
darkening hill. 

I^ater, and yet ere winter wholly shuts, 
Kre through the first dry snow the runner grates, 
And the loath cart-wheel screams in slippery 
ruts. 
While firmer ice the boy eager awaits. 
Trying each buckle and strap beside the fire, 
And until bed-time plays with his desire, 
Twenty times putting on and off his new-bought 
skates. 

Our poet was born at Klmwood on the 
22d of February, 1819 — the youngling of 
the flock, received his early education in 
Cambridge, and in 1838 graduated at 
Harvard, where his father and grandfather 
had graduated before him. After his 
134 



5ame6 IRuesell Xowell 



** colleging " he studied law, and was ad- 
mitted to the bar ; but he had opened an 
office in Boston, to lure clients, a very 
little while, when he discovered that he 
and the legal profession were not de- 
signed for each other. There could not 
have been a more uncongenial and un- 
profitable pursuit than that of the law for 
a nature so frank and generous as that of 
Ivoweirs ; and, happily for him, necessity, 
which knows no law, did not compel him, 
as it has many others, to stick to the law, 
for a living, against his inclinations. So 
he abandoned all thoughts of the ermine, 
and of figuring in sheepskin volumes, if 
he had ever indulged in any such fancies, 
which is hardly probable, and, turning 
his back on a profession which is fitly 
typified by a woman with a bandage over 
her eyes, he turned to his books and trees 
at Blmwood, determined on making lit- 
erature his reliance for fame and fortune. 
His first start in literature, as a business, 
ended disastrously. In company with 
his friend Robert Carter, he established 
135 



Same0 IRuseell Xowell 



a monthly magazine called the Pioneer^ 
which, owing to the failure of his pub- 
lishers, did not last longer than the third 
number ; but it was admirably well con- 
ducted, and made a decided impression 
on the literary public by the elevated 
tone of its criticisms, and the superiority 
of its essays to the ordinary class of maga- 
zine literature. Soon after the failure of 
the Pioneer he was married to Miss Maria 
White, of Watertown, a lady of congenial 
tastes, and as remarkable for her wom- 
anly graces and accomplishments, as for 
her elevated intellectual qualities. The 
Morning Glory ^ published in the last 
edition of his poems, was written by her. 
They have resided at Klmwood since their 
marriage, with the exception of a year 
and a half spent in Italy. 

The ancestors of lyowell were among 
the earliest and most eminent settlers of 
New Kngland, and there are but few 
Americans who could boast of a more 
honorable or distinguished descent. He 
was named after his father's maternal 
136 



James Uuagell Xowell 



grandfather, Judge James Russell, of 
Charlestown, an eminent person in the 
colony of Massachusetts, one of whose 
descendants, Lechmere Russell, a general 
in the British army, recently died at his 
seat of Ashford Hall in Shropshire. The 
founder of the Lowell family in Massachu- 
setts was Percival Lowell, who settled in 
the town of Newbury in the year 1639. 
The Hon. John Lowell, the Poet's grand- 
father, was one of the most eminent 
lawyers in Massachusetts ; he was a repre- 
sentative in Congress, and being a mem- 
ber of the convention which framed the 
first constitution of his native State, he 
introduced the provision into the Bill of 
Rights which abolished slavery in Mass- 
achusetts. 

The father of Mr. Lowell is a distin- 
guished Congregational clergyman, who 
has been pastor of the West Church of 
Boston nearly fifty years, and is the 
author of several works of a religious 
character ; he graduated at Harvard, and 
was an intimate friend and class-mate of 
137 



5ame6 1Ru66ell Xowell 



Washington Alston. He afterwards "went 
to Edinburgh, where he studied divinity, 
and matriculated at the University there 
at the same time with Sir David Brewster, 
who was also a divinity student. 

A few years ago, when Dr. lyowell was 
in Scotland with his wife and daughter, 
he paid a visit to Melrose Abbey, and 
while there heard a man tell another that 
Sir David Brewster would be with him 
directly. He had not met the eminent 
philosopher since they were students to- 
gether, and did not know that he was in 
the neighborhood of his old friend's 
house, which he learned, on inquiry, was 
the fact. When the philosopher appeared, 
Dr. Lowell made himself known, and 
found, from the heartiness of the embrace 
he received, that an interval of forty 
years had not diminished the attachment 
of his early friend and companion. 

The mother of the Poet was a native of 

New Hampshire, and a sister of the late 

Captain Robert T. Spence, of the U. S. 

Navy. She was a woman of remarkable 

138 



Jamee 1Ru60ell Xowell 



mind, and possessed in an eminent de- 
gree the power of acquiring languages, a 
faculty which is inherited by her daugh- 
ter, Mrs. Putnam, whose controversy with 
Mr. Bowen, editor oit\iQ North American 
Review^ respecting the late war in Hun- 
gary, brought her name so prominently 
before the public that there can be no 
impropriety in alluding to her here. Mrs. 
Putnam is probably one of the most re- 
markable of linguists, and there have 
been but few scholars whose philological 
learning has been greater than hers. She 
converses readily in French, Italian, Ger- 
man, Polish, Swedish, and Hungarian, 
and is familiar with twenty modern dia- 
lects, besides Greek, I^atin, Hebrew, 
Persic, and Arabic. Mrs. Putnam made 
the first translation into English of 
Frederica Bremer's novel of The Neigh- 
bors^ from the Swedish. The translation 
by Mary Howitt was made from the 
German. 

The maternal ancestors of Lowell were 
of Danish origin, and emigrated to Amer- 
139 



5ame6 IRnescli lowell 



ica from Kirkwall, in the Orkneys. 
While Dr. Ivowell was in Scotland with 
his family, they went to the Orkneys to 
visit the burial-place of his wife's fore- 
fathers, and while there they met a cousin, 
a native of England, whom Mrs. I^owell 
had never before seen, who had been 
many years in India, and on his return 
to his native land, had gone, like her, on 
a pious pilgrimage to visit the graves of 
his ancestors. 

Among all the authors whose homes 
are noticed in this series, I^owell is the 
only one who has the fortune to reside 
in the house in which he was born. It 
is a happiness which few Americans of 
mature age can know. But Lowell has 
been peculiarly happy in his domestic 
relations ; Nature has endowed him with 
a vigorous constitution and a healthy and 
happy temperament ; and, but for the 
loss of his three children, the youngest 
of whom, his only boy, died recently in 
Rome, there would have been fewer shad- 
ows on his path than have fallen to the 
140 



Jamea IRuseell Xowell 



lot of most other poets. A nature like 
his can make its own sunshine, and find 
an oasis in every desert; yet it was a 
rare fortune that he found himself in such 
a home as his imagination would have 
created for him, if he had been cast 
homeless upon the world. He loves to 
throw a purple light over the familiar 
scene, and to invest it with a superflu- 
ousness of grateful gilding. The large- 
hearted love to give, whether their gifts 
be needed or not. The lovely landscape 
around ^Imwood looks still lovelier in 
his verse than to the unaided vision ; and 
the *^ dear marshes'* through which the 
briny Charles ebbs and flows, are pleas- 
anter for being seen through the golden 
haze of the Poet's affection : 

Below, the Charles— a stripe of nether sky, 
Now hid by rounded apple-trees between, 
Whose gaps the misplaced sail sweeps bellying 
by, 
Now flickering golden through a woodland 
screen, 
Then spreading out, at his next turn beyond, 
A silver casket, like an inland pond- 
Slips seaward silently through marshes purple 
and green. 

141 



James 1?u06ell Xowell 



Dear marshes ! vain to him the gift of sight 
Who cannot in their various incomes share, 

From every season drawn, of shade and light, 
Who sees in them but levels brown and bare ; 

Kach change of storm or sunshine scatters free 

On them its largess of variety, 
For nature with cheap means still works her 
wonders rare. 

Blmwood is half a mile or so beyond 
the colleges, and lies off from the main 
street; the approach to it is through a 
pleasant green lane, or at least it was 
green when we last saw it, the trees hav- 
ing been freshly washed of their *' brown 
dusf by a shower which was still falling, 
and the muddy division of the year hav- 
ing apparently just commenced. The 
house is so surrounded with trees that 
you catch but a glimpse of it until you 
stand opposite to it. Though built of 
wood, and nearly a century old, it shows 
no signs of decay. It is most appropri- 
ately furnished, and contains many in- 
teresting relics, old family pictures, and 
some choice works of art, among which 
are two busts by Powers, and two or three 
portraits by Page, among the finest he 
142 



5ame6 IRusaell Xowell 



has painted. Perhaps it may be gratify- 
ing to the reader to know that the Poet's 
study, in which nearly all of his poems 
have been written, is on the third floor, 
in that far corner of the house on which, 
in the engraving, the light falls so pleas- 
antly. 

I^owell is generally looked upon as a 
serious poet, and, indeed, no one has a 
better claim to be so regarded, for serious- 
ness is one of the first essentials of all 
genuine poetry. But seriousness is not 
necessarily sadness. Much of his poetry 
overflows with mirthful and jocund feel- 
ings, and, in his most pungent satire 
there is a constant bubbling up of a genial 
and loving nature ; the brilliant flashes 
of his wit are softened by an evident 
gentleness of motive. He is the first of 
our poets who has succeeded in making 
our harsh and uncouth Yankee dialect 
subservient to the uses of poetry ; this he 
has done with entire success in that ad- 
mirable piece of humorous satire. The 
Bigelow Papers, No productions of a 
143 



5ame0 tRixescll Xowell 



similar character, in this country, were 
ever held so popular as the pithy verses of 
Hosea Bigelow, in spite of their being so 
strongly imbued with a trenchant spirit of 
opposition to the popular political views 
of the multitude ; and many of them have 
been widely circulated by the newspapers 
without any intimation being given of 
their origin. We were sitting one even- 
ing in the bar-room of a hotel in Wash- 
ington, just after the election of General 
Taylor, when our poetical metropolis was 
filled with office-seekers from all parts 
of the country. The room was crowded 
with rude men who were discussing 
political matters, and the last thing we 
could have looked for was a harangue 
on American poetry. A roughly-dressed 
down-easter, or at least he had the accent 
and look of one, came into the bar-room, 
and addressing himself to a knot of men 
who appeared to know him, exclaimed, 
*'Who says there are no American 
poets?" And he looked around upon 
the company, as though he would be 
144 



James 1Ru6sell Xowell 



rather pleased than otherwise to en- 
counter an antagonist. 

But nobody seemed disposed to venture 
such an assertion ; the novelty of the 
question, however, attracted the attention 
of the people near him, which was prob- 
ably all he wanted. **Well," continued 
the speaker, with an air of defiant con- 
fidence, **if anybody says so, I am pre- 
pared to dispute him. I have found an 
American poet. I don^t know who he is, 
nor where he lives, but he is the author of 
these lines, and he is a poet.** He took 
a newspaper from his pocket, and read 
what Parson Wilbur, in the Bigelow Pa- 
pers y called a New England Pastoral ; 

Zekle crep' up quite unbeknown, 

An' peeked in thru the winder, 
An' there sot Huldy all alone, 

'ith no one nigh to hender. 

Agin' the chimbly croonecks hung, 

An' in amongst 'em rusted 
The ole queen's arm that gran'ther Young 

Fetched back from Concord busted. 

The wannut logs shot sparkless out 
Toward the pootiest, bless her ! 

145 



James IRuseell Xowell 



An' leetle fires danced all about 
The chiny on the dresser. 

The very room, coz she was in, 
Looked warm frum floor to ceilin', 

An' she looked full as rosy agin 
Kz th' apples she wus peelin'. 

She heerd a foot an' knowed it, tu, 

Araspin' on the scraper,— 
All ways to once her feelins flew 

I,ike sparks in bumt-up paper. 

He kin' o' I'itered on the mat, 
Some doubtfle o' the seekle ; 

His heart kep' goin' pitypat, 
But hem went pity Zekle. 

The Yankee read it with proper eta- 
phasis and an unctuous twang, and all the 
company agreed with him, that it was 
genuine poetry '* and no mistake." 

And so poetry makes its way in the 
crowd. If it have the true spirit in it, it 
will find a sure response in the great heart 
of the multitude, who are, after all, the 
only judges in art. There is no appeal 
from their decisions. And, in the case 
of Ivowell, the decision was unmistakably 
in his favor. He is acknowledged as one 
of the poets of the people. There are 
Z46 



5ame0 IRussell iowell 



none of our poets whose short pieces we 
find more frequently in the comers of 
newspapers, although they are but rarely 
attributed to their author. 

lyowelps prose writings are as remark- 
able as his poetry ; the copiousness of his 
illustrations, the richness of his imagery, 
the easy flow of his sentences, the keen- 
ness of his wit, and the force and clearness 
of his reasoning, give to his reviews and 
essays a fascinating charm that would 
place him in the front rank of our prose 
writers, if he did occupy a similar position 
among our poets. He has written consid- 
erably for the North American Review^ 
and some other periodicals, but the only 
volume of prose which he published, be- 
sides the Bigelow Papers^ was the Con-- 
versations on the Old Dramatists^ which 
appeared in 1849. 

Lowell is naturally a politician, but we 
do not imagine he will ever be elected a 
member of Congress, as his grandfather 
was. He is such a politician as Milton 
was, and will never narrow himself down 
147 



5ame3 IRussell Xowell 



to any other party than one which in- 
cludes all mankind within its lines. But 
he cannot shut his eyes to the great move- 
ments of the day, and dally with his Muse, 
when he can invoke her aid in the cause 
of the oppressed and suffering. He has 
to contend with the disadvantages of a 
reputation for abolitionism, which is as 
unfavorable to the prospects of a poet as 
of a politician ; but his abolitionism is of 
a very different type from that which has 
made so great a commotion among us 
during the last ten or fifteen years. Not- 
withstanding the unpopular imputation 
which rests upon his name, it does not 
appear to have made him enemies in the 
South. Some of his warmest and most 
attached friends are residents of slave 
States and are slave-holders ; and one of 
the heartiest and most appreciative criti- 
cisms on his writings that have appeared 
in this country was published in a South- 
em journal, a paper which can hardly be 
suspected of giving aid and encourage- 
ment to any enemy of the South. 
143 



Morfts i n JJSelle g^Xettreg 

Renaissance Fancies and Studies. 
By Vernon Lee. Being a sequel to 
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